Many of you have asked, so I thought I’d update you on Beerfast. I’ll be perfectly honest with you – the last 3.428571 weeks have been anything but easy.
Its a little unnerving to think of how much of a beer drinker I am (was?). I guess its true though – I’ve always been generally indifferent in my choice of liquor. I’ve had fad drinks here and there, drinks that I would order almost exclusively, but I currently have no preference in my non-beer beverages. I can drink a Merlot one minute, a Jack-and-coke the next, and a vodka-tonic after that. I don’t mind any of them, but I don’t care for them either. Most days, I’d rather have a beer.
The first few days of the bet went by pretty smoothly. We had made the bet on a Sunday, so it was easy to avoid beer – or any drink for that matter – during the weekdays that followed. But when Friday rolled around, things started to get tricky. We had a going away dinner for Briggs at Bobby Van’s, and were forced to alternate between wine and whiskey, neither really quenching our thirst. I can’t even remember what we did the rest of the night… likely because I had too much whiskey.
I knew Saturday would be tough, and a text message from Briggs that afternoon couldn’t be a more appropriate reaction to this entire bet.
“Wow, you are a total douche.”
Michigan was playing a night game that day, so I had decided to make use of the free day to run some errands for my new apartment. Responding to Briggs’ invitation to his apartment for daytime beer pong and college football with “Can’t drink beer for a month, heading to IKEA” was not smart. I’m still embarrassed I said something so lame.
But Michigan playing at night made going to a bar to watch the game easier. Drinking liquor in the middle of the afternoon would have felt really weird to me; the 8pm start time helped me adjust to the notion of not having a beer while watching Michigan Football. That’s not to say it made things super easy… after a few hours of only drinking Jack and Cokes, I hit a wall – that point in the night where one needs to slow things down. And let me tell you, there’s something to be said about ordering a glass of “whatever red wine you have” at 1am at a clubby Irish pub. That something is “Wow, I am a total douche.”
Luckily, I made it through the night, and Week One was over. The weekdays again went by without a hitch, but Thursday was when things got difficult again. I was headed to Chicago for an extended weekend and was worried what temptation I was going to encounter. My trips to Chicago are never tame – and I knew this one would be no different. Over the course of the weekend I was supposed to be attending a beer-only open bar before going to a club Friday night, stop by a half dozen Halloween parties on Saturday, and watch both Michigan and Chicago Bears football.
On my flight out to Chicago, I started seriously questioning my abilities to make it through the duration of the bet. I brainstormed ideas for cutting costs elsewhere in my life (like by not eating dinner for a week) to counter the financial impact of giving up. I thought about paying off my friends to lie on my behalf (up to a breakeven point of $100, obviously). I even thought about reverse engineering my previous offer to my friends. That is, instead of paying my friends to get Sachin or Rishi to drink a beer, I get my friends to pay me and subsidize my loss.
“Jay, I don’t know if I’m going to make it through this weekend.”
“Oh yeah, Sachin offered me the same deal if I got you to drink a beer.”
“Well how about this, I’ll drink a beer. You collect from Sachin and give me a cut.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Cause it would make me a more fun person to be around. Don’t you want that?”
“Here, have a scotch.”
Like Jay, none of my other friends really bought into the idea of paying me to lose a bet. Luckily, the open bar I attended also served wine, the Halloween parties I went to had plenty of liquor (except for one, which ran out, so we left), and the football games… well, I went to friends’ apartments to watch the Michigan and Bears/Lions games, and sat in the corner drinking Diet Cokes. Not one of my prouder moments.
I came back from Chicago on Monday, but the rest of the week was not as easy as the ones before. Halloween fell right in the middle, and even though I had a great time sans beer (and plus everything else), Thursday was just not fun. At all.
Last weekend was when this bet really started taking its toll. It may have been the exhaustion from the Chicago trip and Halloween, but I had no desire to be social. While watching the Michigan game at a bar, Sachin and I sat in the corner drinking Diet Cokes (though this time we were so insecure with ourselves that we told people they were Jack and Cokes). On both Friday and Saturday nights, I only went out for an hour or so, not having any desire to drink (I know, weird right?) nor hang out with those who were.
Perhaps the hardest thing about this bet has been explaining it to people. When we first started, it was exciting to talk about. I’d bring it up willingly.
“My friends and I challenged ourselves to go a whole month with beer! Crazy right? I think I can do it. It’s a great test of will power! Maybe I’ll lose some weight!”
In the second week, I stopped bringing it up voluntarily. It only came up when I had to decline someone buying me a beer, or explain it to someone who hadn’t yet heard the story. People kept bringing up how ridiculous of an idea it was, but I hadn’t quite admitted it to myself.
“Oh yeah, I forgot you can’t have beer.”
“Wait, why can’t you have any beer?”
“Cause I made a bet with some friends to give up beer for a month.”
“What happens if you lose?”
“I have to pay $100.”
“What if no one loses?”
“Then nothing happens.”
“Why do you care then?”
“Pride, I guess?”
“That’s lame. Why did you decide to do this?”
“Because we wanted to see if we actually could.”
“So you’re not doing this for any health reasons?”
“Kind of, but not really. At this point its more of a will power thing.”
“So you can’t drink during football Saturdays?”
“No.”
“Or play beer pong for a month.”
“No.”
“That’s so lame.”
“Not really… its kind of a cool challenge.”
“Yea, tell that to me in a week.”
(Other frequent discussions throughout this bet have been to clarify what we can and cannot drink. Cider, for example, is too beer-like and is also banned. Wine coolers / Bacardi Silvers / Hard Lemonades are legal, at the risk of looking like a wuss.)
But eventually, as the days went on and the cravings for beer spiked, the conversations turned more sour.
“Wait, so explain to me again why you’re doing this.”
“Cause I’m a fucking idiot. Don’t talk to me.”
Which brings me to now – an unusually territory not unlike (watch out, NYC current events reference coming up!) the last few miles of a marathon, where I’m ready to call it quits right now, but I’m also proud of how far I’ve made it and how close I am to the end so I can’t give up now! (No clue if I’m using that marathon reference correctly, cause let’s face it, I may be able to give up beer, but I sure as hell don’t run for pleasure.)
It has been good being away from beer for a while. I don’t feel bloated when I wake up on the weekends (did I really just say bloated?), and my Sundays aren’t spent dealing with beer BMs. I’ve furthered my affinity for scotch (shout outs to Jay and my roommate), and I feel like I’ve lost a few pounds (Actually, that is a blatant lie. I think cutting beer out of my diet has actually made me fatter.)
But I’m absolutely looking forward to this thing to be over. I’m looking forward to when people will stop asking me about the bet, stop questioning my intelligence for ever agreeing to it, stop picking bars like d.b.a. which serve like a bajillion kinds of beer, stop tempting and teasing and taunting me (Turner, if you say “Mmmmmmm, carbs” while holding your beer in front of me one more time, I might kill you). I’m looking forward to not having to listen to Sachin say “Come on, just drink a beer. If you want to have a beer, just have it. I’M JUST SAYING [hands waving and pointing in excitement], if YOU want a BEER, just DRINK A BEER. YOU, BEER. Just do it,” thinking that for some reason, after 24 days, I might just crack because he, the one who has to gain by me doing so, says its OK.
I’m looking forward to midnight on November 14th (15th?), when I can finally, finally, FINALLY drink a beer.
(I am not, however, looking forward to the rest of November 15th. My boss already has it down in his calendar – no joke – that I’m not allowed to call in sick that day. That day is not going to be fun.)
